


Poolside

by betts



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Protective Older Brothers, Pseudo-Incest, Sharing Clothes, Size Difference, Size Kink, Squirting - Freeform, Truth or Dare, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 06:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14050902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/pseuds/betts
Summary: Ben came home from school two weeks ago, first time since Dad’s funeral in February. He didn’t know what he expected—a warm welcome, maybe. Gratitude the three of them could be together for a few months before he went back to campus and Rey started her senior year of high school. Instead his mother told him she had to leave town on business for six weeks, and would he keep an eye on Rey? She’s been acting funny.Funny how? Ben asked.You’ll see, Mom said.





	Poolside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brittlelimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift for Lucy <3
> 
> Rey is a senior in high school and adopted. Ben is a senior in college. 
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for errors.

A phone buzzes underneath Ben’s pillow, once, twice, groggily he grasps for it. He pries open a single eye to see his sister grinning at him on a Carnival cruise ship, heart-shaped sunglasses, summertime freckles, tongue sticking out between her teeth. Only three years ago, but she doesn’t look like that anymore.

He answers the call and brings the phone to his ear. The clock by his bed reads 3:54 a.m.

“Rey?” he says.

Rey gasps a choked inhale that sounds like it could be either a laugh or a sob. “Ben.” The word cracks. He sits bolt upright in bed.

“Rey, where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Finn.” Her words are slightly slurred and echo as if against tile. “I think he met a guy and left me here. I don’t—I don’t—” She tumbles into another sob. “I don’t know anyone here. I don’t know where I am. I—”

“Are you drunk?”

“Please don’t tell Mom.”

“Rey,” he says, running a hand over his face.

“I’m scared, Ben.”

He perches the phone between his ear and his shoulder and grasps around on the floor for his jeans. “Are you somewhere safe?”

“I locked myself in the bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick.”

He shoves one leg into his jeans, then the other. “I need you to turn on location services, okay? You know how to do that?”

An _mhm_ noise makes her sound ten years old again.

Ben stands and buttons his pants, shoves his feet into his flip-flops. “Alright. I’ll be there soon.”

“Ben?” she asks.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a ghost town, the suburbs on a Thursday pre-dawn in June. Ben came home from school two weeks ago, first time since Dad’s funeral in February. He didn’t know what he expected—a warm welcome, maybe. Gratitude the three of them at least could be together for a few months before he went back to campus and Rey started her senior year of high school. Instead his mother told him she had to leave town on business for six weeks, and would he keep an eye on Rey? She’s been acting funny.

Funny how? Ben asked.

You’ll see, Mom said.

Sure enough, when Rey saw him, she gave him a single furious look and it was the cold shoulder then on out. He doesn’t know what he did. He’s been afraid to ask. So he stays in his room in the basement, and she’s been hanging out with friends who have their licenses already, or she lounges by the pool until it gets too hot and she has to come inside, or listens to music so loud Ben can hear it through the floorboards.

Twenty minutes later, Ben pulls into a cul-de-sac. One apartment’s front yard is trashed with a ping-pong table on its side and Solo cups littered around it. Half a dozen cars are parked against the curb and Ben stops in front of the driveway. Inside the apartment, bodies are in various states of undress sleeping on furniture in Tetris-esque angles. Booze bottles, shot glasses, and an abandoned line of coke litter a coffee table. In a distant room, he can hear the moans and squeaking bed springs of a probable orgy. A place in his chest sparks with envy: he never got a chance to pull this shit when he was a teenager. He doesn’t even pull this shit now. It’s not like he wouldn’t, but he’s always prioritized grades over fun. Rey has the opposite problem.

Ben makes his way down the hall where it’s darker than the rest of the place. The orgiastic noises get louder. He hovers by each door and whispers, “Rey?” He opens a closet. He passes the orgy. He gets to a door that has to be the bathroom and knocks.

No answer. He tries the knob. It’s locked.

“I don’t know who’s in there but I’m opening the door.”

He grips the knob and jerks it hard to the right. The hardware creaks and breaks. The knob comes loose in his hand. He pushes the door open.

Rey is lying in the bathtub, shivering in a fitful kind of sleep. She’s wearing a hot pink crop top and high-waisted shorts. A surge of...something overtakes him, knowing the way guys look at her now, knowing what she gets into at these kinds of parties. Knowing men probably touch her when she’s drunk, manhandle her. The thought makes him want to punch his fist through tile.

Ben squats down and shakes her shoulder. “Rey.”

She jolts awake and, wide-eyed, pushes herself to the furthest corner of the tub.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.”

“Ben,” she says, and her chin wobbles like she might start crying again. “I’m sorry.”

“C’mon, stand up.”

He helps her to standing and she teeters on her feet, so he puts his hands on her waist to steady her. She clumsily holds onto him as she steps out of the tub. He takes off his jacket—their Dad’s old leather bomber—and puts it around her shoulders. She has her forehead pressed against his chest.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks softly, rubbing her back.

“Dunno,” she mumbles. “Leave ‘em.”

“Okay, hold on,” he says, and leans down to sweep her up at the knees. She rings her arms around his neck while he navigates out of the bathroom and back through the apartment.

Only one person notices, some guy downing a glass of water in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, “you can’t just—”

“He’s my brother, Poe,” Rey tells him. “Fuck off.”

At the car, Ben places her gently into the passenger seat and buckles her in.

She presses her nose to the crook of his neck. “You smell good.”

He pauses in front of her, looks at her. Their faces are just inches apart and it’s normal like it’s always been but also not for some reason, maybe because she’s drunk, or barely dressed, or the way she’s looking at him. 

“You smell like home,” she says.

 

* * *

 

Back at the house, he carries her inside, kicks off his shoes and is about to head toward her room when she mumbles, “Wanna go to your room.”

“Why?”

“I sleep there when you’re gone.”

He wants to ask why again but he’s afraid, just like he’s afraid to set her down on her feet. So he goes into the basement which is already a wreck despite his mom’s diligent cleaning in his absence, and gently lays Rey on his bed. She unbuttons her shorts, lifts her hips off the bed, and pushes them off. She’s wearing a lacy black thong underneath. Ben feels his face run hot and he says, “I’ll get you some water.”

Sleepily, she makes another _mhm_ noise and settles into bed.

He returns with a water bottle from the mini-fridge by his computer desk. Rey is curled on her side but he touches her elbow and gets her to sit up. Her top shifts and nearly exposes her breast. Ben swears she didn’t used to look like this. Or maybe she’s just never draped herself nearly naked in his bed before.

He sits beside her and watches as she tilts the bottle up and drinks it. A droplet comes out the lip and rolls down her chin, her neck. His hand is on her lower back.

“Are you gonna be sick?”

She lowers the bottle and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then shakes her head. “Don’t think so. Puked it all out earlier.”

“Okay,” he says, and stands. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She grabs his wrist. “Don’t.”

“I’m not going to sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

When he hesitates, she adds, “It’ll be like when we were kids.”

Their parents adopted Rey when she was just a baby and Ben was five. They lived in a two-bedroom house, so for years they shared a room. When Rey got too old for a crib, they shared a bed. They shared backseats and restaurant booths and a single bathroom. For nearly as long as he can remember, she’s always invaded his space. She preferred his toothbrush over her own. She liked to pee while he was in the shower then flush the toilet. She always stole his fries and usually the rest of his food too. She played games on his computer. She wore his clothes. She used his razor and bar of soap. She had all her own things, but always liked his better.

“Fine,” he says. He flips off the lamp, tugs off his shirt and kicks off his pants, then rounds the bed and lies down, his back to her, covers all the way up to his shoulder. He can feel her body heat, the slightest touch of her lower back against his. Behind his eyelids rests her little black thong, bare tan stomach, breasts barely covered by her top. He reaches down and adjusts himself, forces his brain to write code in his head instead.

“Ben?” Rey asks. Her voice is just a whisper but it rings in the air around them.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning as he’s brewing coffee, he watches her out the sliding glass door in front of the pool. She’s wearing a baby blue bikini. Or more accurately, not wearing it. She’s also lying on her stomach in the grass, the strings of the top undone, bottoms discarded completely. From this angle he can only see the curve of her ass. Her skin is golden and glistening and she shows absolutely no sign of a hangover. She’s not even wearing sunglasses.

He sits at the kitchen table so he can still see her as he scrolls through the news on his tablet and drinks coffee. He’s grateful he at least put on a pair of jeans before coming upstairs because he’s hard again, but he refuses to connect the image of his little sister sunbathing and an erection, so he dismisses it as late-arriving morning wood and tries to keep his eyes off of her.

It doesn’t really work. He watches as she ties the strings of her bikini around her neck and then gets on her knees to tie the back. He can only catch the slightest flash of a breast before she has the rest secured and turns away from him to pull on her bottoms. His cock gets harder and he shifts it into the leg of his jeans.

Last winter, he got the call about his dad while he was in English class, packed up, and came home right away. He was only here for a week and in that time he was still trying to stay afloat with homework. Honestly he doesn’t remember much about any of it, other than everyone was weirdly stoic about the whole thing and his mom didn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. She planned the funeral like she did everything else: efficiently. He was back at school the following Monday.

His father had gotten sick just the November prior. Pancreatic cancer. By then, Ben already had his study abroad plans finalized and it didn’t occur to him to cancel them to spend Christmas with his family. He didn’t think it would be his dad’s last. Before that, he hadn’t bothered coming home for spring break because he needed to get caught up on a few projects. And the summer before that everything had been normal, except he went on a long road trip with Hux and was only home maybe a week or so. That was the last time Rey seemed like herself: lanky dork of a girl, always smiling, always all over him, always annoying the hell out of him.

She comes inside and doesn’t even look at him.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” she replies. She opens the fridge and grabs a Gatorade.

“Want something to eat?”

“No,” she says, but before he can ask a follow-up question, she’s already up the stairs and closing her bedroom door.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Ben is watching _Cool Hand Luke_ in the living room and Rey finally comes out of her bedroom to pick at the cold remnants of pizza Ben ordered hours ago. She sits beside him on the opposite end of the couch and asks, “Has the egg scene happened yet?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

She finishes her slice and wipes her hands off on her bare legs. She’s wearing a white skirt and a tank top like she’d intended to go out tonight and thought better of it. She might still be intending to go out, but he doesn’t want to ask in case the answer is yes.

After a while she settles onto her side, face resting against a throw pillow. Ben tries to keep his eyes off of her, even when she presses her feet to his thigh. He rests his hand on her ankle, skates his thumb over the rough callus of her heel.

By the time Paul Newman is digging a hole and refilling it and digging it again, Rey’s breathing has gone steady, asleep. She rolls onto her back and props a knee against the couch, stretches her other leg out so that her foot grazes Ben’s cock. He tells himself not to look, not to be a fucking pervert, but he can’t help himself. His gaze slides over to her, skirt bunched around her hips, legs splayed apart. Another lacy thong, digging into her cunt. The barest dusting of hair. Ben swallows. He imagines pushing the lace aside, trailing his thumb up and down her slit.

Rey shifts her foot again and he nearly moans. His hips twitch against the friction and he tries not to tighten his grip on her ankle. 

Finally, just as the credits are beginning to roll, Rey turns to her other side, forehead against the back of the couch, feet off Ben’s lap entirely as she curls in on herself. He grips his thigh and wills his body to chill out before turning off the TV.

Rey stirs and mumbles, “Your bed.”

So he flips off the lamp and picks her up again. Just like the night before, he takes her down to bed with him.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he wakes up curled around her, an arm over her bare stomach. Her tanktop had shifted up in sleep along with her skirt. In the morning light filtering through the iceblock windows, he stares at the freckles on the back of her barely sunburnt shoulders. She’s breathing deeply, clutching at his arm. He presses his mouth to the nape of her neck, closes his eyes. She smells like home, too.

 

* * *

 

Some days Rey doesn’t speak to him at all. She spends most of her time with headphones in her ears, phone tucked precariously in the waistband of her bikini bottoms. She reads books in the living room and when Ben tries to join her she’ll move to the backyard. When Ben puts on his swim trunks and does laps, she goes inside. When she gets cold, she wears his long-forgotten hoodies, ragged things that have been missing from his wardrobe for years. Sometimes he turns the A/C down a few more notches than he should.

He makes lunch for her every afternoon and dinner every night. He calls for her and she takes her plate into her room, brings it back out shortly after and cleans up the kitchen. She goes out at night wearing hardly a thing—short skirt, big earrings, tops that could double as headbands—and when Ben asks her where she’s going, she ignores him, gets into a car blasting music so loud it rattles his teeth. He stays up waiting for her, tells himself three in the morning is his cut-off and if she’s not home, he’ll go looking for her. But she always comes home before two, a self-imposed curfew. He asks where she’s been and she glares at him and goes to bed.

Other days, though. Other days she’ll watch TV with him, on her stomach on the floor, pillow bunched beneath her, feet kicking above, legs slightly apart. Always in skirts or booty shorts or bikini bottoms. Always riding up a little too far, barely anything hidden. Always positions herself right in front of him like she’s daring him to look. During commercials his mind starts to race; he imagines crawling between her legs and pushing inside her, splitting her open, filling her up. She wouldn’t be able to ignore him then.

At night sometimes he’ll wake up to the feel of the mattress dipping, her small body wedging into his embrace. He goes to bed in boxer shorts and every night she seems to wear less and less. Sometimes in his half-sleep he slides his hand up her thigh to her hips and ribs. He shifts against her drowsily and listens as her breath catches. Once, he grazes her breast on accident and swears he hears the lightest of moans, the closest she gets to talking to him. He doesn’t let himself think about it. He just falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Ben presses his ear against the front door. Outside, Rey is talking to a boy, giggling a lot, high and light and totally fake. She makes herself sound dumber than she is, ending all her sentences in an upward lilt like a question. Out the peephole he can see she’s standing on a step so she and the boy are the same height. His hands are on her hips and she’s swaying like she’s drunk again, about to fall. Ben can’t tell how much is part of the act. He thinks he recognizes the guy—Poe from the party.

“C’mon,” Ben hears the guy say, muffled through the door. “He won’t even know I’m in there.”

“He will. He’s like, obsessed with me,” Rey says.

Ben’s heart picks up speed.

“Obsessed with you? He’s your brother.”

“He’s a pervert. You should see the way he looks at me.”

“What a creep.”

“I know, right?”

It’s something about the way she says it that hits Ben the wrong way. Not chastising, but pleased. Eager.

“Want me to go in there and tell him to knock it off?”

“No offense but he’d rip you in half.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I won’t be if you let me come inside and sleep it off.”

Ben looks through the peephole again. Poe has his arms wrapped around Rey’s waist. Ben grits his teeth.

“I’m serious. My brother would kill you. He’s very protective.”

Again, like it’s a good thing.

“And probably jealous,” she says, a bit too loudly, and then the guy kisses her.

Ben’s veins ignite. He squeezes his hands into fists and watches through the peephole. Poe’s hand snakes down Rey’s back and then up her skirt where he grabs her ass. She pushes it away and Ben thinks she mutters, “Stop it.” He goes after her chest this time. “Seriously.” She pushes his hands away again. He slots one between her legs.

Ben throws open the door and storms outside. It only takes a few steps before he has the guy’s shirt in both of his fists, dragging him down the steps toward the driveway, where his shitty car is parked.

“Ben!” Rey says. Her flip-flops slap against the sidewalk.  “Stop it. Stop. Put him down.”

The guy curses, tries to fight, but he can’t catch his footing. Ben tosses him onto the hood and he promptly rolls off.

“Stay the fuck away from my sister,” Ben says. He grabs Rey by the arm and pulls her back toward the house.  

“Let go of me!” Rey struggles against him.

He has her in the house now, slams the door and locks it before finally letting go. She’s backed into a corner and he presses forward. Headlights spin through the window and flash over Rey’s face, teeth gritted in anger, breathing heavily, but something manic and gleeful in her gaze.

“You’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Staying out late every night. Drinking. Ignoring me. What’s your fucking deal?”

She crosses her arms and purses her lips, shoots her attention elsewhere like a fucking brat.

“I swear to god, Rey, if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to pack up my shit and go stay with Hux.”

Her eyes lock back on his, suddenly panicked. “You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t leave me alone. Mom would kill you.”

“Watch me.”

Her chin wobbles and the reflection in her eyes glitters. Teenage girls—more emotion has crossed her face in the last minute than Ben has felt in months. “That’s exactly why.”

“What is?”

“You weren’t here, Ben. You weren’t here for any of it. He got sick and he—he deteriorated, right in front of us. Every day got worse and then one day he was gone, and so were you and I needed you. I—” She shoves him at the shoulders. “— _needed_ you.”

“I was at school. You can’t expect me to—”

“He was your father, you heartless fuck. Isn’t that more important than your precious GPA?”

“I asked. I kept asking Dad if I should come home—”

“And he lied to you. He didn’t want you to worry. You were supposed to see through that. You were supposed to come home anyway.”

The ground under Ben’s feet begins to spin. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” she says, and pushes past him, up the stairs and into her room.

 

* * *

 

Ben gives her space. The next day, he waits around to see if she’ll come out of her room. He hears her stir around noon, open the door only to cross the hall into the bathroom, then go straight back to bed. By four, he’s worried she hasn’t eaten. He fixes her favorite food—a meal they call “shitty nachos” which is just ground chuck with taco powder and melted cheese on tortilla chips. He scoops some sour cream onto the side with a pile of jalapenos. She likes it with milk for some reason. He puts the whole thing on a tray table and sets it outside her door, then raps on it with a knuckle.

“Hey,” he says, “there’s some food out here for you.” He waits for a response. Inside he hears nothing. He wonders if she snuck out, and realizes she couldn’t have—not only does she not have a safe way from her bedroom window to the rosebush below, she could just leave out the front door and he wouldn’t stop her. He also strongly suspects that if she were to leave, she would _want_ him to know. “Just—put it back out here when you’re done. I’ll clean up.”

He backs away from the door and heads back down, making sure his feet thump heavily against the stairs so she knows he’s gone.

A minute later, he hears the door squeal open and shut again. Twenty minutes after that, it happens again. He goes back upstairs to find the tray table, an empty plate and glass. He pauses before taking it back down, thinking maybe she’ll toss a “thank you” at him. Nothing.

Ben settles on the couch for an evening movie marathon. Wes Anderson. He starts with _Bottle Rocket._ He skips _Rushmore_ and _The Royal Tenenbaums_ and moves straight to _The Life Aquatic._ He’s nearly to the third act when Rey falls onto the other side of the couch and nearly startles him out of his skin.

He stares at her, heart pounding. She’s wearing only a bikini top—the blue one, his favorite—and a pair of hot pink running shorts. Their father’s bottle of Jim Beam is clutched in her hand, propped on her thigh, half empty.

“Where did you get that?” he asks.

She pops a thumb behind her toward the kitchen. “Stole it months ago. Mom never noticed.”

He lurches forward to take it from her, but she’s too quick, pulls it away and they grapple for it. He loses only because in grinding against her, he starts to get hard. He scrambles away from her in frustration and says, “Give me the damn bottle.”

“Only if you agree to take a shot,” she says.

He grips a throw pillow in his fist and says nothing.

She sloshes the bottle in his direction. “I _dare_ you to take a shot.”

Dares: Ben’s weakness. Over the years Rey has gotten him to do the dumbest and craziest shit just because she dared him. She’s been doing it since she learned what the word meant. At nine, she dared him to sneak into Grandma Padme’s candy stash. At twelve, he nearly drowned in the pool from holding his breath for four minutes. At sixteen, he uncovered their dad’s Playboys from the top closet shelf. At eighteen, they dined and dashed at their favorite restaurant and haven’t been back since. He just can’t make himself back down.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he looks her in the eye—glassy in tipsiness but sharp in whatever pure evil lurks in her—and takes the bottle from her grasp, puts it to his lips and takes a long pull.

He sets it back down on the coffee table, out of her reach. “There,” he says. “Happy?”

“My turn.”

“What?”

“Truth or dare. Ask me.”

He heaves a sigh. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Boring.”

“Do it. I’ll tell you anything.”

He glances at her again. Her full attention is on him, the dimple of a lopsided smile slotted into her cheek. They haven’t played this since they were kids. He’s just grateful she’s speaking to him, though he knows it’s just because she’s drunk.

“Last night,” he says. He expects her to cut him off and tell him to ask her something else, but she lets him continue. “Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“What do you think?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes.” Now she’s grinning. “Did it work?”

Ben takes a throw pillow and clutches it to his chest, sinks down in the couch a little further. “You know it did.”

“You can’t stand the thought of another man touching me, can you?”

“I’m your brother. Of course I can’t.”

She makes a _hmm_ noise. “But it’s different.”

He presses his mouth against the pillow and forces himself to focus on the movie, but it's all just swirls of blue and yellow.

“Truth or dare,” she says.

“C’mon, just watch the movie.”

“Truth or dare,” she says again.

Fuck him, he caves. “Dare.”

“Give me your shirt.”

“Really?”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re not wearing anything.”

“You keep the A/C at sixty-eight. Give me your shirt.”

He sighs again, leans forward, and reaches behind him to tug the collar of his t-shirt. The moment it’s off, he tosses it at her face and falls back against the couch.

As Rey yanks it over her head and pushes her arms through, she says, “Somebody’s been working out.”

“Shut up.”

The shirt swallows her. She tucks her knees into it. “My turn. Dare.”

He forces down a smile and doesn't look at her. “Give me your bikini top.”

“Oh come on.”

“We don’t have to play.”

“Ugh,” she says, and reaches behind her neck to tug the bowtie of her halter. Then she reaches up the back of the shirt and unclasps the back. She pulls the entire thing out through the collar of the t-shirt and tosses it at him.

He puts it on. It barely stretches over his chest and Rey is laughing so hard tears spring to her eyes. Nothing underneath the shirt now, her nipples peak against thin fabric. The left side of the v-neck threatens to slip down her shoulder.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she says, wiping her eyes with the flat of her hand. “Your turn.”

“Truth.”

“How many women have you slept with?”

“God, I don’t know. Seventeen? Eighteen?”

Her jaw drops. “My brother is a slut.”

“I’m twenty-three. That’s a perfectly reasonable number of people to have slept with.”

“It is not! That’s way too many! When did you lose your virginity?”

“Fuck, sixteen I think?”

“You were a dork when you were sixteen. You didn’t even know any girls.”

“I knew Ms. Robertson.”

“She was our health teacher!”

“And she gave me some...advanced lessons.”

“Oh my god,” Rey says, hands covering her face. “Oh my _god_.”

“You asked!”

“I didn’t know I didn’t want to know!”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well I’m drunk and you should be too. I dare you to take another drink.”

“It’s not my turn.”

“I’ll take two, then. A truth and a dare.”

He reaches for the bottle and takes a longer swig than he probably should. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “Truth. How many boys have you slept with?”

Rey tucks her face into the collar of his shirt, up to her forehead.

“You gotta tell me,” Ben says. “It’s only fair.”

Muffled, he thinks she says, “None.”

“None? You’re a virgin?”

Her ponytail bounces with a nod and he nearly cries in relief. Like her, he didn’t realize he didn’t actually want to know the answer. It would take a lot of energy to keep from murdering whoever she fucked. 

She catches the sigh that escapes his chest and looks at him. “I’m almost did, once. But I asked him to stop.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t the right person.”

They stare at each other a long moment, something passing between them, he thinks, like the night he picked her up at the party, but he’s feeling the slightest bit tipsy so he can’t tell for sure. Her cheeks are flushed red from either booze or embarrassment. It’s becoming more difficult for him to keep to his side of the couch.

“Dare,” he says. His voice comes out rough, thick. “Come closer.”

She pauses and for a moment he thinks she’ll chicken out, or maybe just move a few inches. On the TV, Steve Zissou is making his final descent into the ocean. She crawls over to him. The collar of his shirt falls over her bare shoulder. She hooks a knee over him and now she’s straddling his legs, sitting comfortably on his thighs.

“Better?” she asks.

“Much.”

“Truth or dare.”

His pulse throbs in his throat. “Dare.”

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Anywhere you want.”

He places his hands on her hips, trails them lightly upward, under his shirt. Her skin is hot to the touch, impossibly soft. He cups her breasts and flicks a thumb over a nipple. She gasps, bites her bottom lip. He slowly circles around both of them, pinches lightly, twists a little. Her eyes flicker shut and the highest little whine escapes her throat. Her breasts are small, barely a weight in his palm. He remembers when she had none, then one day they were just there, two perky little mounds that had always made his dick wet. It took years of training to keep himself from staring at them. Even now, his eyes are trained on her face, flushing redder by the second, all the way down her neck.

He pulls his hands away abruptly and revels in the sudden gasp, the slight writhing on his lap. She opens her eyes and her pupils are dilated to the irises. She doesn’t look drunk anymore.

“Dare,” she says, nearly through her teeth.

“Show me.”

Suddenly shy, she plays with the hem of the shirt for a second before lifting it to her chin.

Finally, he thinks, there they are. Small and perfect, peaked nipples pointing a little upward. He needs them in his mouth. Needs to feel her flesh between his teeth.

He tries not to let it come out as a whine. “Dare me.”

“Do it,” she says.

He pushes forward and flicks a tongue against her nipple, sucks it into his mouth. Her hips have inched upward so he can feel her crotch shifting against his dick trapped under the fly of his jeans. Hands gripping her hips, he presses more firmly against her, pulls her toward him until she’s grinding on his cock.

He switches to the other. Her breathing grows heavy.

“Truth,” she says. Then with more urgency, “Truth.”

He pulls back. The shirt is still rucked up to her armpits. Her nipples are bright red and shiny with spit. If she hadn’t stopped him, he doesn’t know what he would have done.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?” he asks.

She bites her lip, pauses, then shakes her head shyly. She looks so young he could die. He doesn’t know how he deprived himself of this for so long.

“I’ve tried,” she admits. “But I just can’t—it doesn’t feel right.”

“Dare,” he says, “please god dare me.”

More defiantly now, she says, “I dare you to make me come.”

He wraps his arms around her and stands up. Her legs tighten against his waist as she hangs on. He drops her back down to the couch, settles on his knees between her legs. He yanks off the bikini top he forgot he was wearing. He pulls her forward by the shirt and tugs it off. Little wisps of hair stick up from her ponytail. The credits on the movie finish rolling and now they’re left in silence.

She spreads her legs wide. A circle stains the hot pink of her shorts. He runs a finger down the seam, leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, continues peppering them downward until his nose slides against the wet spot.

Her breath hitches. “What if I can’t—”

“Just relax,” he says, tugging down the elastic of her shorts.

She lifts her hips to accommodate him. She’s not wearing any underwear. Her pussy has the lightest dusting of hair and a bikini-shaped tan line. He spreads her lips apart with his thumbs—wet, red, so small he doesn’t think he could slip a pinky inside without stretching her. His cock leaks at the sight of it.

He grips her hips and pulls her toward him so her ass is nearly off the couch, then buries his face between her legs. She’s the sweetest he’s ever tasted. The softest. He licks a long stripe upward and feels her thighs tense. When he does it again, she gasps. When he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, she cries out.

He pulls away to lick his middle finger and push it inside of her. He watches her face while he does it—her eyes roll back; she stops breathing. Slowly he fucks in and out of her with just the one finger, crooked upward, his other hand pressing down on her pelvis. He finds the right spot and feels her wetness dribble down his hand. He doesn’t dare try a second finger. Just one feels tight. His cock would never fit.

When he puts his tongue back on her, her moans get louder, her breathing faster. She runs her fingers through his hair and grips it.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m—I think I’m—”

Her pussy clenches against his finger. She squirts hard—it runs down his arm to his elbow, drips onto his jeans. Her body convulses, back arching off the couch first, then she curls in on herself, cradling his head, nearly falling off the couch. He holds her steady, continues stroking in even movements, sucking her clit. Her hips rock against his face.

When she begins to shudder, he pulls back, letting his hand slip from her, breathing heavy as he rests against her thigh. He gave his baby sister her first orgasm. The thought alone almost makes him come in his jeans.

Breathless, Rey says, “Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says. He couldn’t survive another dare.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

The question makes him press his palm against the base of his cock and moan. “Rey…”

“Yes or no,” Rey says. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then do it. I want you to.”

“We can’t. It’s—too far.”

He expects her to put up a fight, maybe guilt him into it, but instead she says, “Then I want to see it. I want you to come on me.”

He complies only because if he doesn’t wrap his hand around his cock _right now_ he thinks he might have an aneurysm. Knees aching, he climbs to standing, towers over her as he unbuttons his jeans and unzips his fly.

She stares at the movement of his hands, unblinking. Between her legs, an obscene wet spot has pooled down the side of the couch. He’ll have to clean it later. He tucks the elastic of his boxers down and pulls his cock out.

Her eyes go wide and she reaches out to touch it. “Oh my god.”

He lets her. Her hands look tiny; she can barely reach her thumb and forefinger around it. She pulls hard.

“No,” he says, “like this.” He puts his hand over her fist and guides her movements. After a few strokes she lightens her grip and it slicks with precome. His little sister is naked underneath him, a post-coital haze over her features mixed with an innocent curiosity at having her big brother’s cock in her hand. She leans forward and licks just the tip of it. She probably can’t open her jaw wide enough for him, but she laps at him on the downstroke, suckles the head.

He can feel himself start to tense. His movements speed up; he squeezes her hand more tightly around him, reaches behind her head and gathers her ponytail in his fist. She opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue and he jerks off on top of it. The first splash of come hits the tip of her tongue, down her chin. The next, her cheek. His load streaks her neck and chest, between her breasts.

“God, Rey,” he says, and leans down to kiss himself off of her.

She’s sloppy with it like she’s only done it a couple times before. Her mouth feels tiny against his own; he devours her, trails kisses down her neck and licks up all his own come.

“Ben,” she mutters against his lips, then breaks away. “Take me to bed.”

He scoops her into his arms again and carries her down to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up with his cock hard against her bare ass, presses his lips to her shoulder, runs his hands up and down her naked body. He’s woken up beside plenty of women, but in the light of day, he realizes now that his sister is the only person he’s ever really wanted.

He kisses up her neck, behind her ear. She grinds back onto him, already moaning lightly—in the morning, her voice turns hoarse and low. His favorite sound. He trails his fingers down the line of her hip bone and stops between her legs, dips into her folds and finds her wet already. He groans into her skin.

She rolls on her back and he slides down the bed, crawls between her legs. He’s slower about it now, takes his time. He tries to push two fingers into her and she hisses between her teeth.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

She nods, her eyes squeezed shut, and he goes back to just one and his mouth. This time when she comes, she says his name.

 

* * *

 

Ben can’t get enough of his baby sister’s pussy. After breakfast, he picks her up and sets her on the kitchen counter, eats her out in broad daylight. She doesn’t bother putting on clothes all day except at night, when it gets cold and she tosses on one of his college t-shirts. She climbs onto his lap while he’s playing a video game and he fingers her through the cutscenes. She comes so hard she soaks his jeans.

At night, in bed, he teaches her how to masturbate, his hand over top of hers, guiding her. She takes a short break and he tells her to try it on her own this time—watches, hands to himself, as she brings herself off. Falling asleep now, he slips his cock between her wet thighs and fucks them slowly. She comes again, the head of his cock pressing against her clit.

“Please,” she begs him, “please fuck me. Ben, please.”

Something in the whine of her voice sets him off. He comes with his cock as far in her pussy as he can fit, not even the head. He opens her legs to see the mess he made—white glistening against red. He could almost come again, looking at the way his seed coats her cunt. He licks her clean and feels her come again against his tongue.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t love me,” Rey says. She’s wearing clothes today—leggings and another crop top, Dad’s bomber. Makeup. Earrings. She’s going out.

“What the hell?” Ben asks, pausing _Drive._

“If you won’t fuck me—”

“Excuse me if I’m hesitant to take my sister’s virginity.”

“—I’ll find someone who will.”

Ben stands, suddenly panicked. He towers over her but she doesn’t back down. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. I will. He’s on his way to pick me up right now.”

“Who?”

“The boy you threw out last time. Poe.”

“I’ll kill him if he touches you.”

Her angry glare breaks into an evil smile. “Guess you’re in a tight spot. Fuck me, or commit homicide.”

“Rey,” Ben says, trying to keep the plea out of his voice. “This isn’t about sex anymore, is it?”

Her expression turns cold. “It never has been.”

“Then what is it?”

“I need to know you love me. After all that’s happened, I—I need to know.”

“You know I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

“Then fuck me.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

He cups her face in his hands and kisses her, parts her tongue with his lips. She tastes like mint, has gotten into the habit of nipping at his lower lip when she kisses, dozens of tiny movements like a hummingbird. He pulls away and manhandles her over the arm of the couch. Another wet spot soaks her leggings—she gets wet so fast for him. He tugs them down and finds a baby pink thong. He pulls his cock out of his sweatpants and rubs it between her ass cheeks to get hard, pushes her wet thong to the side and runs his thumb up and down her cunt.

Their dad’s jacket pools up against her back.

“Are you sure?” Ben asks.

She nods, hands gripping the couch cushion.

He pulls apart her pussy lips and presses the head of his cock between them. It’s like pushing a piece of PVC pipe through the head of a needle. He gets the tip inside and she scrabbles against the couch, writhes in what already seems like pain, but doesn’t make a sound. One more push and he’d be inside, but he can’t do that to her. He won’t do that to her.

He pulls out, tucks his cock back in his sweatpants. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Rey stands up straight and yanks her leggings back up. She wipes a strand of hair from her face and says, “Fine. Poe will.”

Before she walks away, he grabs her by the arm. “Don’t do this, please. I’m sorry about Dad. I’m sorry I made you feel so alone. You know I’m sorry.”

She glares into his eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted was to feel close to you. This is the only thing keeping us apart and you won’t do it.”

He lets go of her and she storms out the front door.

 

* * *

 

Ben’s cell phone vibrates under his pillow and startles him awake. He glances at his clock—a little past two in the morning. He glints at his phone and sees Rey for only a fraction of a second before answering.

“I need you to pick me up,” she says.

At least she’s not crying this time.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, sitting upright. “Are you safe?”

“I—no, not really.” Her voice breaks. Now she’s crying. “I said no to him, and he just left me here. I couldn’t go through with it, Ben. I only—” A soft sob escapes her. “I only want you.”

He hates the sigh of relief that floods out of his lungs. “Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”

 

* * *

 

Rey insists on showering the moment she gets home. He doesn't let himself think about what that means. He fixes her an omelette with roasted potatoes. She comes out with wet hair, wearing another of his t-shirts and what he assumes is nothing else. They sit at the kitchen table and he watches her eat in silence.

When she’s done, he takes her plate to the sink and rinses it.

“I should go to bed,” she says. “It’s late.”

He nods. She looks at him for a long moment, maybe waiting for him to argue, insist she come to bed with him, but he doesn’t. So she leaves, wiping her eyes as she climbs the stairs to her room.

 

* * *

 

It’s sometime between night and day when Rey wakes him up a second time. A thin slip of watery dawn pierces the windows. He feels a dip in the mattress, her warm body pressed against him. He’s too tired to think about it, lets his body move as it may—a hand down the soft cotton of her shirt, down to the warm skin of her bare ass.

“I need you,” she whispers against his throat.

And that’s it. That’s all he can take. He kisses her, lips down her neck, rolls her on her back and settles between her legs, easy as breathing. Rucks her shirt up under her arms and laves at each breast. He crawls down and sucks her clit between his teeth, soaks her pussy with his tongue. He presses a finger into her, fucks her slowly with it until she comes with the sweetest moan.

This time he doesn’t stop. He slides a second finger into her and she gasps.

“Relax,” he murmurs against her thigh.

She grips the sheets in her fists and he feels the walls of her pussy loosen against him. He presses a third into her and she cries out, closes her legs shut, but he wrenches them back open.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

She shakes her head but her eyes are squeezed shut and she’s biting her lip. When her body finally relaxes around three fingers, he pushes his boxers off and climbs to his knees.

He’s only taken a girl’s virginity a couple times before, but both of them had masturbated with dildos frequently, and neither of them were as small as Rey.

He slides the tip of his cock up and down her slit, dips it between her folds once, and again. He finds her opening and pushes his hips forward, lets go of his cock and holds her thighs instead. The head is buried inside her, but that’s it.

Rey is breathing heavily. He rubs her thigh to calm her and pushes another fraction of an inch. She lets out a choked noise.

“Just a little further,” he says. This time when he pushes in a bit, he pulls out, sees a streak of red across his dick. He goes in further, almost to the base of his cock. Tears are streaming down the sides of Rey’s face. One more shove and he’s all the way inside. Her pussy is so tight it almost hurts him.

He leans down and kisses her softly, tastes her tears on his tongue.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Hurts,” she says, voice broken. “Go slow.”

So he does. He pulls out gently and sees more blood. It makes him sick nearly as much as it turns him on—evidence that she’s his. She’ll always be his.

She loosens up a little when he dives back in, enough that he can thrust shallowly. Her cries of pain turn slowly into pleasure. The tension on her face seeps away. A pool of blood and wetness gathers underneath Rey’s hips.

“Hold on,” he says. She tightens the grip of her arms behind his neck and he pulls her upward, sits cross-legged underneath her so that her legs are wrapped around his hips and gravity can push him deeper into her. They move together and find a rhythm. The t-shirt sticks to her back with sweat.

“Oh fuck,” Rey says, “I think I’m—”

Suddenly he feels her walls clench around him, and she’s nearly screaming. His baby sister is coming on his cock and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore. He shouldn’t come inside her, god, he knows he shouldn’t, but right now all he wants is to bury himself deep inside her and fill her up. He puts her on her back again and folds her knees to her chest, pounds into her harder than he’s fucked anyone before. His hips lose their rhythm, his movements running shallow, then he stills and comes inside of her, cock throbbing with each wave that crests over him.

He never wants to fuck anyone else.

With a long breath, he gently pulls out and doesn’t miss the way she winces. His cock his covered in blood. So are his sheets. Rey’s cunt lips are swollen red, smears of blood on her thighs. Her pussy walls pulse and a thick drop of come drips out of her, more blood trailing with it.

He settles on his stomach and licks her gently clean, taste of copper and come flooding his throat.

He sits up and wipes his mouth, lies down and holds her, kisses the freckles of her shoulders.

"I'm sorry about Dad. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"It's okay," she says. "You're here now."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.bettsfic.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/bettsfic).


End file.
